


Skulls (Rivamika Jam 3)

by minxiebutt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxiebutt/pseuds/minxiebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hold me in your arms; I'll be buried there with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skulls (Rivamika Jam 3)

Why the city decided to hire a composer instead of pulling from within the school districts’ shitty collection of music, Levi Ackerman had no idea. But it was about to pay his bills, so he would try to keep his grumbles to a minimum. 

 In an attempt to avoid offending the generally touchy public and their perceived war on the holiday season, Stohess had moved the annual All City Choir concert up by a month, to November. Even with two practice sessions a week, Levi would only have a few days to compose an hour’s worth of music, so that the brats would have sufficient rehearsals. For the first time in his life, he would be working with high schoolers, and he was thankful that only varsity choirs participated. They would at least have the pride to work and not be spoon-fed. 

Levi stacked his prepared music packets and buckets of writing utensils on the tail of the concert grand piano, then took a seat on the bench as the first few students shuffled in. He turned his attention to scales to get a feel for the instrument at his fingers. The pedals were stiff from disuse, but the cords were still in tune. The stage didn’t have the level of acoustics he preferred, making it obvious that he would need to compensate by placing everyone in their strongest section, even if it wasn’t their typical part. 

He had worked his way up to a C-major scale that began at C3 when he heard humming along. Although there would be warm-ups after integration, he was glad that several people were taking the initiative. The risers were about half full, and a quick glance at his watch informed him that newcomers would be late after ten more minutes. The accumulated body was sitting, watching him blankly, packets of sheet music untouched on their knees. 

“Write your name on your name tags,” Levi vociferated. “Large enough to see. Then solfege your music.”

Markers and pencils were retrieved, a brave few hovering. He played without issuing a reprimand, reminding himself that these were kids. Kids are curious. Curious means wanting to learn. And apparently learning required breathing down his neck. 

He peeked at his watch two minutes after the hour. Levi stood and addressed those that had arrived on time: “When you finish your solfege, stand up.”

;;;;;

“First page,” he instructed when he was met with risers full of erect students. Levi played the scale of E-flat major, and watched as students held up hand signs and hummed their starting notes. Holding the music sheet in his left hand, he half-heartedly waved his right in a loose tempo. “Alright, two-three-four!”

Because it was chant music, there was little movement within the octave. Together, the choir produced an expected E-flat major chord, shifting gradually into F-minor, down to C-minor, A-flat minor, and finally back up again to end on E-flat major. One hundred measures was surely enough to awaken their youthful vocal cords, he figured.

“How do we feel about that?”

A low crowd grumble of, “Fine.”

“Turn to page six.” Papers rustled. “Our opening piece will be ‘Os Justi’, composed by Daley. Have any of you seen this?”

Most students shook their heads. Levi sat on the piano bench. “It’s performed without accompaniments, but I’m going to play through it so you know what it will sound like. Follow along with your hand signs silently, please.”

;;;;;;

It had been a long several hours, but a successful initial practice. The students would be able to handle anything he wrote for them, but that was the problem. He had no inspiration. Maybe it was his stagnate lifestyle—no current love interest, no recent heartbreak. He’d been sailing on a sea of  _steady_  for almost two years now, earning his living not for newly composed pieces, but simply for digging back through everything he had previously written. 

No doubt, the next few days would be miserable, producing pieces not because they pushed through his skull at three in the morning, begging to be written, but out of mechanical duty. 

Levi cleaned up the stage, pushing the concert grand back to its secure closet, and collected stray pieces of paper. He turned off the stage lights, and drew the curtain to leave everything the way he found it this morning. He scanned the seats in the auditorium on his way out.

Pushing open the doors to the lobby, he stopped in his tracks.

Floating down the curve of the echoing, tiled lobby, assaulted, _“… to some distant century, when everyone we know is six feet under…”_

He shut the door quietly, catching sight of one of the altos standing in front of the double glass doors, holding all of her belongings, still waiting for her ride home. She was bundled tightly in a denim jacket, a crimson scarf wound around her neck and tossed over her left shoulder.

 _“When all of our friends are dead and just a memory, and we’re side by side, it’s always been just you and me. For all-“_ (he was stunned by her deep melisma) “– _to see_.” 

Strongly, the obviously contralto girl continued,  _“When our lives are over, and all that remains are our skulls and bones, let’s take it to the grave.”_

Levi began to make his way toward her, drawn by the deep resonation in her voice. She was singing in the bottom of her chest register gloriously. Her song reverberated through her bones and into his, staining the tiles around them, burrowing itself into the windows. Listening felt like lighter fluid washing over his skin, leaving goosebumps. Deep on his spine, his muse stirred, setting alight the nerves through his shoulders and neck, until the burning took over his brain.

“ _And hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms. I’ll be buried here with you. And I’ll hold in these hands_ —“

Catching his reflection in the glass, she visibly jumped, snatching headphones from her ears. “Sir!”

“Are you waiting for a ride?” He eyed her nametag. Mikasa Ackerman-Jaeger. He recalled seeing her name in the roster of students representing Shiganshina High School, where his sister was one of the choir teachers. “Are they on their way?”

Red-faced and eyes downcast, she nodded, pushing through the glass door and storming out to the occupy one of the benches near the street. She dropped heavily, burying her face in her hands. Miraculously, within a minute, a sedan pulled up as if her humility had summoned it, and she threw herself into the passenger seat.

When he gathered his wits and exited the municipal center, Levi locked it up, and strode to his car. He sat in it, unmoving for several minutes, feeling the muse wrapping itself tighter and tighter around his neck, asphyxiating him into a creative high. 

_Hold me in your arms, hold me in your arms…_

;;;;;

“Levi?”

“Tell me about Mikasa Ackerman-Jaeger,” he blurted as soon as Isabel answered her cell. Barely home for fifteen seconds, and already he was bent over sheet music, scribbling quickly on his living room floor. He felt giddiness, replaying her voice in his head over and over, his muse feeding on the memory.  _I’ll be buried here with you…._

“Is this about All City? I should have warned you about her. She’s headstrong,” Isabel said rapidly. “Are you still going to let her sing? What did she do?”

“I need audio samples—anything you have.”

“This doesn’t sound appropriate.” Three seconds of serious silence. “What’s going on?”

“Isa, don’t worry; just help.” He hung up, tossing his phone blindly onto his carpeted bedroom floor the next room over. Mikasa’s voice was echoing through his head, that small teaser of a song caught in a vicious loop. He could barely keep up with the melody that sprouted from his muse. A heartbroken song, lovers separated by circumstance feeling the pull of one another’s pains, spiritual connection, shared souls. 

In half an hour, he strung together weepy sopranos and altos in a female only ensemble in D-minor. He collected the dozen sheets thrown around, ordered them, and retreated to the keyboard at his work desk to give it a play-through for adjustments. While he was fine-tuning, his computer dinged, signaling a received email. 

;;;;

He consumed all the content like an addict, captivated; by midnight, he had written a complete concert.

There were video clips from talent shows and show choir performances throughout the last three years. She sang the school anthem at Shiganshina High’s homecoming football game this year. For a moment, he realized that his fascination with audio of Mikasa was borderline creepy, but when he replayed her show choir audition of “Speechless” for the fifth time, he couldn’t even be sorry. 

Throughout the night, Isabel texted him, demanding an explanation for his interest in one of her star pupils. He did eventually explain himself, validating his actions with the fact that Mikasa had awoken his long-dormant muse. Isabel wasn’t impressed. 

 **I could get into trouble,**  she informed him.

 **You’re the only qualified person willing to teach at that inner-city excuse for a high school** , he responded sharply. 

;;;;;

The night of the concert, Levi waited patiently as the choir filled the risers under the ultra-bright stage lights, settling into their sections. He did a brief walk-through, spoke softly to each section, lavishing on the encouragements. The audience was suspended in anticipation, but a pep talk right before the performance was something he always did. 

He knew Isabel was in the crowd somewhere, in support of her students but also eager to hear what Mikasa’s voice had inspired. Levi had sent photocopies of the works, with emphasis on the first piece he had written for females. There had been something about that ghostly love song vibrating from her chest that had stirred a feeling of meeting her before, but when his body caught flame, everything died and the phoenix of his muse remained. 

Even now, just seeing her there, tucked securely in with the altos, he felt his skin turning to ashes. She had no idea, through the weeks of practice, that he had written these pieces of music  _because_  of her,  _for_  her. For the sake of professionalism and sanity, he would leave it there. There was no amount of fantasizing about meeting her again down the road that could change that. Eventually, his muse would tire of her, and dwindle until a new source of fire came, in which his captivation would shift. 

On the way to his music stand, he played the starting note for “Os Justi” and was rewarded with the barely audible hum. He shuffled the sheets resting there aimlessly, evening his breathing. His muse was heady, anxious. He looked up, straight to Mikasa and her brightly painted lips, and everything stilled. 

He raised his baton.


End file.
